An Unquiet Night
by SoulfireInc
Summary: Dani and Malcolm are stranded outside New York and check into a motel room for the night. Nightmares and honestly follow.


Dani fumbled with the keys, one arm still wrapped tightly around Bright.

"I still think we should get you checked out," she grumbled, slotting the key into the motel door.

Bright snorted. "I'm fine, Dani, it's just a bruise."

She glared over at him. "You got _hit_ by a _car."_

He shrugged one shoulder as she kicked the door open. "Only a little."

Trying not to laugh she adjusted her grip on his waist and helped him over the threshold.

It was only a few steps to the nearest twin bed but the hobble from the car had exhausted him and he leaned heavily on her. Dani eased him gently onto the mattress and stood back, closing the door behind them. They were an hour outside New York, fresh from a promising lead that'd slipped right through their fingers. Right after the suspect had driven right through Bright, forcing him onto the windshield before he'd slid off onto the tarmac. He was an idiot not to at least get checked out – he couldn't put his full weight on his leg and Dani was pretty sure he'd done something to his chest. Gil had told them to grab a motel for the night – it was already nine-thirty – but once they were back in New York Dani would get his help forcing Bright into a clinic.

He leant forward, trying to take off his shoes, but cut the movement short with a low hiss, his face a pained grimace. Dani slipped to her knees in front of him and reached for his loafers.

"Let me."

Bright waved a hand. "No, no you don't have to –"

"I don't mind," she cut in, already working the first one off and moving to the second. She glanced up at him, throwing him a devious smile. "Besides, this is only proving my point. It's not just a bruise."

"No it is," he said quickly. Then hesitated. "Just maybe a bruised ... rib."

She huffed a laugh and got to her feet.

"Thanks Dani," he said softly and she smiled down at him.

"You need sleep. Here." She put a hand on the back of his neck and eased him onto his back, holding him until the pillow had his weight. She caught his slow, controlled breath as fresh pain flickered through him. The idiot could have internal bleeding for all they knew.

It spoke to the drama of the day that Bright didn't protest the suggestion. He clawed off his tie and undid the top two buttons of his shirt, letting out a long sigh as he finally let himself relax. When he spoke his words were a tired mumble.

"Yeah, I guess that's not ... the worst idea." His eyes opened. "Or maybe it is – em, I don't –"

"If you have a nightmare I'll wake you up before you brain yourself," Dani said casually, studying the old fashioned TV remote and trying to coax the thing into life.

"I – are you sure? Last time you did that I kinda took you down."

Dani chuckled and glanced to him, her humour fading at the genuine concern hiding under his attempt at humour.

"Don't flatter yourself, Bright. You caught me off guard." The TV buzzed to life. Bright still looked unsure, despite the clear exhaustion etched into his face, even more pronounced than usual. When had he last slept anyway? "Don't sweat it, Bright," she added softly. "I got you."

He smiled at that, small and sincere. With a curt nod, he lay back down and closed his eyes.

"Mind the TV?" she asked, already flicking through channels.

"Long as it's not golf," he mumbled back. "Hate golf."

Dani laughed, settling for a crappy reality show and arranging her pillows against the headboard. "Noted."

The falsely spontaneous confessions of stranded islanders filled the room for a few minutes. Dani hadn't been keeping up with this season, but she knew a few of the faces from her last lazy day and quickly decided who she'd vote off.

"Y'know," Malcolm said mildly, "the psychologies at play in these reality shows is actually pretty interesting. The narcissism alone is –"

"Bright."

"Yeah?"

"Don't ruin my show."

"Oh. Yeah, sorry."

He didn't speak after that, and by the next ad break, miraculously, his breathing had slowed to a steady restful rhythm. Dani spied a blanket through the wardrobe door, left ajar by the cleaning crew. She scooted off the bed and unfolded it, then laid it gently over Bright, who had of course fallen asleep on the covers.

She hesitated a moment once the fabric settled over his chest, struck by his expression. He looked ... almost peaceful. It took her a second to realise why it seemed so strange, but this was the first time she'd seem him switched off. No walls up, no guard held firmly in place. No uncertain vulnerability winking through. Just ... Bright.

The sight set something deep in her chest glowing with a delicate warmth and she turned away quickly, distracted by a failed prank on the show. Or at least, that's what she told herself.

It was a double bill, and after the second episode Dani still felt too buzzed to sleep. The adrenaline should've left her bloodstream by now but the thought of lying down properly and closing her eyes just held no appeal whatsoever. She compromised with reason and got under the covers to watch a true crime documentary on her phone.

It took her a few minutes to notice the small sounds of anxious sleep. She paused the documentary, listening. Glanced to Bright, whose hand was twitching outside the blanket. Taking out her headphones she slipped out of her warm cocoon and stepped over to Bright's bed. He was flinching, brow furrowed. Fearful syllables shocked past his lips, too small to be understood. Dani took his hand in hers and squeezed it gently.

"Bright. Hey. You're okay."

He shifted his head slightly on the pillow, frown deepening. She put her other hand on his cheek, stroking her thumb along his skin.

"Shh. It's okay, Bright. You're not alone. I'm here."

He sighed, expression clearing, and deflated into the mattress. Dani stayed where she was, running a hand through his hair, making sure the nightmare had passed. His eyes weren't moving under his lids anymore.

She brushed a rogue strand of hair off his forehead, following the movement and running the backs of her fingers down the side of his face before resting her hand on his chest. She stood quickly, hands recoiling as though shocked.

What the hell was she doing? He wasn't hers to – she couldn't just hold his hand like that, this was – she was –

No. They were _friends._ She was just sharing a little comfort to help him sleep. It wasn't anything more than that. Forcefully ignoring a whispered denial in her mind she returned to her own bed and Netflix, studiously _not_ thinking about how soft his skin had felt against her own.

One hour-long episode later – and after a thoroughly maddening twist she should've seen coming – Dani's attention was abruptly pulled from the interrogation back to the dark little room. She reached over and flicked on the bedside light, grimacing at its stark brightness.

Speaking of Bright.

Dani got to her feet, heart leaping in her chest. He was moaning audibly now, face contorted in fear, a chorus of _nos_ and _don'ts_ chasing each other through his chattering teeth, peppered with deep, frantic grunts and half-screams. He lurched in the bed, arms convulsing in aborted attempts to fend someone off. Dani sat back on the bed beside him and gripped his shoulders tightly.

"Bright," she said firmly, her voice loud and clear. "Bright, wake up. You gotta wake up."

She shook him gently, moving a hand to his cheek but his head flinched to the side, his brow pinched in pain.

"Bright! Bright, wake up!"

With a great, Lazarus gasp, Bright bolted upright, almost whacking into her. She jerked backwards in time, hands flying back to his shoulders. His eyes were open, but she knew he wasn't seeing her.

"Hey, hey, hey. Bright, it's okay. You're okay. I've got you."

She drew him into a hug, running a hand along his back and whispering reassurances into his ear. For a few seconds, he just sat there, rigid in her arms, but then he wrapped his around her and buried his face in her shoulder.

"I'm sorry." It was muffled, barely audible, but Dani just held him closer.

"Don't. It's fine."

His breathing was evening out, deepening into calm. He drew back, not quite meeting her gaze.

"Did I wake you?"

"Nope. I was wasting my night watching Netflix. I think you saved me."

The corner of his mouth twitched but it couldn't be called a smile. He rubbed a hand over his face as though trying to scrub composure into his features. It didn't work. His other moved to hi ribs, massaging them gently for a moment.

"You wanna talk about it?" she asked quietly.

He heaved a breath, still not looking at her.

"You like talking to me, remember?" _And you said you'd try harder._

His eyes darted to hers, calculating.

"It's," he began, "... bad."

"Yeah. Kinda figured."

His hands were fisted around the blanket, worrying it under white knuckles.

"I don't wanna ... You might –"

"Bright." She waited till he met her gaze. "I'm pretty sure there's nothing you can say that's worse than all the messed up shit I've seen on this job." She raised her eyebrows. "You told me I could trust you. Well that goes both ways."

He swallowed, not breaking eye contact. She could see fear war with courage, and silently willed the latter to win. This time, at least.

"I keep, uh ... ever since Claremont, the dreams have all been the same." His voice was lower than usual, guarded, as though each word might be the one that sends her running. She just shifted closer, laying her hand on the mattress in case he wanted to hold it.

"It's ..." He wasn't looking at her now, frowning instead at his hands. "It's me. Every night. Me who – who stabs him."

Dani said nothing, giving him space to find the words.

"My mother's there, trying to stop me, but my da – but Martin, he's – it's almost like he wants me to do it, and that scares me because ... because so do I," he added, his voice little more than a breath. "And part of me ... part of me _likes it."_

He seemed to furl in on himself then, like an animal expecting attack. He still hadn't looked at her.

Dani took a slow breath, thinking.

"Well," she said after a minute, "I guess that makes sense."

His eyes snapped to hers. "It does?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "Sure. I mean, part of you hates him, right?" She gestured to him. "Everything he's done to you. He's caused you a lot of pain, Bright, and it makes sense for there to be a part of you that ... I dunno, wants revenge? Wants to be in control for once? Make him feel some of the fear you do." She lowered her gaze at these last words, wondering if they were a step too far.

"And that doesn't ... scare you?" he said, voice heavy with disbelief.

She turned back to him. "Why would it?"

He huffed a humourless laugh, finally relaxing his posture as he gestured grandly. "Why? Dani, if I could feel _pleasure_ at _stabbing_ my own _father,_ what the hell does that mean for _me?" _He threw his gaze skyward, waving both hands to encompass the world. "I – I'm – I'm _disturbed. _Clinically. Practically unhinged. My dad, he brought me to – he told me we're – I – if I –"

Dani ignored her hesitance and took his face in her hand.

"Bright. Breathe." She waited until he'd managed a full breath. "Listen to me. First of all, you didn't try to kill your dad. It was a dream. One that makes sense – this is just the trauma talking, believe me. What, you're scared that you're like him?" Her voice rose at the ludicrousness of that idea. "That some dream will turn you into a killer?"

His gaze seemed trapped by hers, bright eyes paralysed at her words. She smiled.

"Bright, you're the last person to go dark."

He blinked. "Dani," he reasoned, "I'm practically _insane._"

"So? So're most of us. You've just got your own blend of crazy. It doesn't make you a killer."

"But I _liked it!"_

Dani snorted, taking her hand from his cheek and throwing it up in frustration. "Yeah, in a _dream._ Even if that kinda shit was real – which it isn't – there's a whole lot of real estate between, I dunno, getting some satisfaction out of hurting your own personal demon than going on a killing spree. Bright, that's not you. Come on, how many times have you put yourself in danger to save someone else? Hell, to just get a _clue_ to save someone? Look, I get being afraid of your blood, of what's inside you out of your control. I do. But I also know we have more control than we think. And you're _good,_ Bright. Anyone can see that if they look. You're weird, sure, but you're a good person. It doesn't matter what shit you're father's done, you're not him. You never will be. Your whole life you've been fighting him. I mean," she laughed, "you _catch killers for a living._ That is not taking after your pops."

Tears glistened subtly in his eyes. Desperation shone there, for her words to be true, for the darkness inside him to be nothing more than a trick of the shadows. She knew the feeling.

He blinked, and a single silvery bead raced down his cheek, skating by her thumb.

"The first day we met," he said, voice hoarse, "I cut off a man's _hand_, Dani."

She rolled her eyes. "I said you were weird. You did save the guy."

He looked down. His hand was inches from hers and he closed the distance, his fingers threading between hers in a silent request. She squeezed a reassurance, using her other thumb to wipe away the tear trail. A small voice in the back of her head squirmed, whispering warnings. This was too intimate. Too close to what had happened before, to the preludes to betrayals, heartbreaks.

But this was Bright. Her friend. She chose to trust him.

"Do you ... do you really believe that?"

"Yeah," she said, without hesitation. "Of course I do."

He nodded slightly and took a steadying breath before looking back up at her. "Thank you, Dani."

The sincerity in his voice made her blush and she glanced away, smiling as though it was nothing.

"Anytime, Bright. It's what friends are for."

He squeezed her hand. "I've never ..." He took a breath. "Dani, you're the best friend I've ever had. I ... I don't know what I'd do without you."

_Best friend._ Dani couldn't remember the last time she'd been called that. The last time she'd _let_ herself be called that. Heat rushed from her heart to her cheeks and she stared studiously at their linked hands, willing the pressure in her throat to ease.

She shrugged one shoulder. "Guess that's something else we have in common, then, huh?"

She didn't see his reaction but when he spoke again his voice was low and soft.

"I'm gonna ask you something and if I'm out of line I swear I'll never bring it up again and we can forget it. But ... can I kiss you?"

Her head snapped up. He was serious. And worse, the moment he said it a very unquiet voice in her head screamed _yes!_ She definitely shouldn't – it would complicate things, she was only getting used to being friends again, it'd been years since she'd been involved with anyone, not to mention it would be crazy to jeopardize her career for something as stupid as a –

Her lips were on his before logic could stop her. His other hand came to her neck, his thumb ghosting along her jaw and as he sucked gently on her lip something deep inside her chest that had been dormant for way too long stirred. She leaned closer, breathing in the smell of him, and it was like a cooling breeze on the baked plains of her heart. She _wanted _this. She wanted it like she hadn't let herself want anything in years. Not since Khalil.

Was she an idiot to think Bright wouldn't hurt her too?

That thought brought her up short and she pulled back with a gasp, hands raised as though to keep him back.

"Bright, we can't, we – we _work_ together, if – if Gil finds out we're done, I –" _I'm scared,_ she couldn't bring herself to add.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, watching her. "I just ... we don't have to."

_But I want to._

She stared him down, wondering what his profiler mind was telling him. Could he see how conflicted she was? How she had no clue how to handle this? How half her reasons had nothing to do with jobs and goals and appearances and everything to do with that crushing black weight that had been living inside her chest for so many years? That darkness that lived in her mind, whispering at her that she didn't get this, didn't deserve it, wasn't built for it. Doubts and fears that had nothing to do with being ace and everything to do with a terrified sixteen-year-old watching her dad be lowered into the ground in a cheap wood box that was all they could afford.

Bright's hand appeared on her cheek and she finally blinked.

"We don't have to," he repeated, kind understanding shining from those damn eyes.

"I ..." _I'm not ready. I'm not able._ "... want to."

He beamed at her and half her reasons shrivelled under the power of his smile.

"Me too. But," he added, expression sobering, "I know it's a lot. _I'm_ a lot." He chuckled. "I'm like a giant red flag and I can't promise you an easy ride. Hell, I can't promise I won't screw this up by tomorrow – I don't even know _how_ to be normal, but I ... I want to try with you. For you."

She searched his gaze for any hint of a lie and found only honesty. Only a mirror to her own heart.

Instead of answering, she kissed him again.


End file.
